The Shores Of The Dead: Omnibus Edition

by Josh Hilden

  “Fuck,” David said as he sagged against the wall of the building and tried to fight back tears. He’d thought that this entire action was a suicide mission for all of them, but he’d intended to do his damndest to survive and to rejoin Amy on the island. Now he knew that the stop watch counting down to the end of his life had begun to race, and that even if he survived, he would never make it to Isle Royale and his friends and family there.

  “Aw what’s the matter Davey? Did somebody have a little accident?” The voice was familiar to David, but at the same time was very alien.

  David whirled toward the voice and aimed his pistol directly at the sleek, slouching figure that loped out of the shadows cast by the full and fat moon. David nearly vomited and screamed at the same time when he saw the distorted and bestial form of Arn Jacobson crystallize in front of him.

  “No greetings for an old and trusted friend, Davey?” He asked, and laughed at the look of horror on the Sheriff’s bleeding face. “I can smell your Death, Davey! It is going to be sweet when you rise again to serve me and my Master!” Now there was rage bubbling in every syllable.

  David didn’t even think, he pumped every one of the rounds remaining in his weapon directly into Arn’s chest. The man who’d been the Mayor of White Harbor, and was now more demon than human, crumpled over and fell to the ground. David dropped the empty clip from the butt of the pistol and inserted a fresh one, then he worked the slide and the gun was ready to fire. Only after he was sure of that action did he approach the still and steaming form of Arn Jacobson.

  The hand which had been underneath the seemingly dead body flashed out like a snake, and slashed David’s ankle to the bone the instant he was within arm’s length. David screamed at the pain in his leg and fell to the ground, dropping his weapon in the process. Arn began to laugh as he rose from the snowy ground.

  11

  Ben

  Slick sweat coated Ben Millette’s body underneath his heavy winter clothing, and a borderline insane smile was plastered to his young face. His once plumpish body was now svelte and rock. Hard living, tight rations, and constant fighting contributed to giving him a physical form that would have made an Olympic athlete proud, if there happened to be any of them left alive in the world.

  He was filled with pride and knew Liam, that crusty old bastard who’d taught him how to fight and thrive in this new world, was looking down from his warrior’s heaven smiling on his people. The Rangers weren’t just winning their fight, in Ben’s opinion they were decimating the Dead and their human masters. Every other fight they’d been in since the Dead began to rise felt like just one more battle to stay alive just one more day. This time, it felt like they were on the cusp of doing something which would matter in the long run. Maybe if they cleared this field and won the day things tomorrow would be better for everyone.

  His battle joy was dissipated by the scene greeting him as he reached the center of the enemy formation. He watched as General Adam Baker, the left nut of the devil, buried an axe into Captain Sam Sim’s chest. Ben broke into a run as the man he’d just begun to get to know drew his side arm, and ended his pain in the only reasonable way that was available. The gunshot wasn’t audible over the cacophony of the battle all around them, but it all became inconsequential to Ben as his gaze tightened and locked on the demonic black form walking away from his murdered compatriot.

  “Mother Fucker!” Ben yelled and charged the giant of a man.

  In the days right after the Dead rose, Ben would have wind milled into the man mountain in front of him with no thought to strategy or survival. The new Ben Millette, the young man tempered in the blood and death of the world he’d known, had a plan. As he closed with the war leader of the enemy forces, the bigger man began to turn, raising his axe for an attack. Ben dropped into a slide his high school baseball coach would have loved, and slashed his fighting pike at the man’s trunk like legs. The hooked steel blade bit hard into the older man’s thigh, blood spurted across Ben’s face, and his opponent screamed in pain as his axe blow missed Ben completely.

  “You killed Liam!” Ben roared as he sprang to his feet. Then brought the Pike up into a guard position Clay had practically beaten into him.

  “He was weak,” the dark man said.

  Ben was horrified to see the bleeding which should have crippled the evil son of a bitch had already stopped. Baker noticed the look on Ben’s face and grinned, “My Master gives me abilities that are beyond your understanding.” He rumbled and advanced on Ben.

  Ben slashed with the pike, and Baker deflected it with no effort. He countered with an axe blow that Ben was barely able to parry. Before Ben could counter attack, Baker kicked out lightning fast and connected with Ben’s right leg. The sound of the femur snapping entered Ben’s mind before the pain made its journey though the routes of his nervous system. He screamed and fell to the ground.

  General Baker raised the axe for the death blow, ice in his eyes.

  12

  Jennifer

  With the added support of the Spotters from Hession, the defenders on the docks managed to hack their way through the disintegrating front wave of the enemy army. Jennifer watched the men and women, girls and boys who’d followed her regain the confidence they’d possessed before the retreat from the line. They’d expected to die here on the docks underneath the teeth and claws of the enemy, now they were on the offensive and had a shot at stopping them here and now.

  Jennifer Millette marched forward and one corpse after another fell under her blade as she waded her way through to the command structure of the Army of the Dead. She knew the only chance they really had was to cut off the head. They were still outnumbered, even if they had knocked the enemy off balance and managed to disperse their lead elements. She plowed in, seeking out people with the marks on their foreheads and singling them out for death. As she brought down a fat man with a crimson mark, more than a 100 of the Dead stopped their organized push against the docks and began to mindlessly crawl at the makeshift barriers.

  Then her ears, ever more acute than most people’s, heard the sound of her husband screaming in rage. She pivoted and saw him slash the leg of the enemy commander, and avoid the deadly man’s counterstroke. Her heart filled with happiness at seeing the man she loved was still alive, and pride at the way he maneuvered. But then it was filled with fear as she saw the larger man break her man’s leg and drive him to the ground.

  Time stopped and Jennifer experienced every second as if it were a minute of real time. Her hands moved of their own volition and the pistol strapped to her thigh, in a gunslinger fashion that all of the Rangers had adopted from her brother, was drawn, aimed, and fired in one lightning quick motion. The range was long. In the old days when her mother took her to the shooting range, it was doubtful she could have made the shot, but the bullet flew true and struck the man in the small of his back. He stumbled and dropped the axe to the ground.

  Jennifer sprinted forward.

  13

  General Baker

  He was in his moment of victory. One by one, the leaders of the opposing forces were falling before him. He had felt that fat fuck Barton die through the link forged by their brands, and he was glad. He knew he would be able to rally his forces, and that these fools were going to fall before his might. All he had to do was finish off the brave young idiot before him. He raised the axe which had served him for so long for another killing stroke, when he felt pain in his back followed by the sound of the bullet that had struck him. He stumbled and the axe fell from his hands. He knew his spine was pierced, and if he was still the man he’d been before taking the mark of his God, he would have been instantly paralyzed.

  He hesitated before he turned to see who’d managed to take a shot at him. That momentary pause allowed Jennifer Millette to close the distance between them, before he was able to gauge the situation and respond. He barely managed to bring the haft of his axe up and deflect the blow from the fighting pike that was arcing directly for the
side of his neck.

  BONG!

  He jumped back as she sprung forward and slashed at his abdomen. He was astonished by her speed and skill. The tip of her bade pierced his gut, and he felt the blood begin to flow and then quickly clot. He then punched the axe head forward to break her sternum. Unlike the two who’d fallen before she attacked, she did not attempt to block the blow.

  Jennifer leapt back and jerked to the side, sweeping her pike at the large man’s knees and again drawing blood that was quickly staunched. He stumbled forward, and she nipped him twice more, once in the shoulder and again in the leg before he recovered. It was the visible arm wound clotting and sealing before her eyes which gave her pause.

  “What the fuck are you?!” she yelled as she dodged another blow that would have smashed her like delicate porcelain.

  “The future,” he replied, and for the first time in weeks an honest, yet repellant, smile broke the stony countenance of his face.

  Jennifer broke into a whirlwind of slashes and jabs that would have left any other opponent diced to ribbons and dying in the snow. But while she managed to stagger the monster of a man and inflict several severe blows, he was still standing when she paused, exhausted and panting. The steam of her sweat rose from the exposed patches of her skin, and she readied for the counter attack she knew was coming.

  “Not bad,” he said conversationally as he twirled his axe, “in fact very impressive. You would have made a wonderful addition to my team, but somehow I don’t think you would be interested.” He cocked his head to the side, like a dog hearing something that no human can hear, “Ah, it seems that your dear Chief has run into an old friend, splendid.”

  “Why don’t you shut the hell up and just fucking do it.” She whispered.

  “I have always believed in giving a lady what she asks for. Whether that is a walk on the beach, a long slow fucking, or an axe head in her skull.” He broke into a rhino like charge and rapid fire chopped at her.

  Jennifer fell back, deflecting five blows until on the sixth, the shaft of her pike split in two. She stumbled under that blow and fell to the ground. Before he could swing his axe, she kicked straight up into his crotch, connecting squarely with his groin. Her joy was short lived as she realized that he was armored there.

  “I played college football for three years, honey. I never go into action without a cup.” He grunted in minor discomfort as he raised the axe for the killing blow.

  Jennifer closed her eyes and waited for the end. She was too exhausted from two days of fighting and killing to even roll out of the way. But the blow never came, there was the harsh short report of a gunshot, and then she was misted with warm sticky goo. This was all followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground in front of her.

  Jennifer opened her eyes and saw Ben standing behind where the man had been. His face was white as the snow, and he was using his pike, point down, as a make shift crutch. The smoking pistol was clutched in his other hand.

  “Hi babe,” he said grinning and then collapsed to the ground.

  Jennifer crawled to him and held him as the battle all around them continued.

  14

  David

  “How sweet, there you lay ready to be meat for the beasts.” Arn crooned at David as he rose and sprung forward to straddle the fallen man.

  David struggled to reach the knife on his belt, but the bestial man had him pinned to the ground. The wound on his cheek was on fire. David could feel the poison racing through his body. He looked into Arn’s eyes, and was terrified to see the thing on him, far from being a demon wearing the little man’s body like a sick Halloween costume, was truly Arn Jacobson. Crazy and transformed by evil, but still the man he’d known and worked with for 10 years. Still the man who’d betrayed them all, and let the enemy into their home.

  “Kill me or don’t kill me Arn, but would you please just shut the fuck up!” David roared at him and then he head butted the former mayor, and was rewarded with the sound of his nose smashing.

  “You Fuck!” Arn screamed and fell back, holding his nose as the blood flowed between his fingers.

  David attempted to scoot toward the fallen gun, but Arn grabbed him by his crippled foot and flung him against the wall of the building. David didn’t have time to marvel at the strength the man possessed, as he felt his right arm break on impact.

  “Now you die.” Arn growled and charged David.

  Just as Arn was about to impale David on his inhumanly long nails, David freed his hunting knife from his belt and thrust it into the wild man’s throat. Arn’s claws sank into David’s chest but they didn’t slash. David lay there, feeling the blood flow from the spasming body of Arn Jacobson that had collapsed on him, but he was smiling. He had finally, after so many years, shut the mother fucker up.

  It took all of the strength David had left to roll the body off of him and stagger to his feet. He wobbled as he began walking to the fuel shed. He could feel the heat of the infection spreading from the bite throughout his body. When he reached the door, he had a moment of panic when he was unable to remember where he’d put the key to the lock. Then he remembered the lanyard around his neck and fished it out.

  The lock was stiff from the cold. David pulled hard on it to get it to release and allow him access. Once he entered the building, he closed and locked the door from the inside.

  He knew he would never leave this building again.

  Chapter Five

  1

  Isle Royale Refuge

  Formerly Isle Royale State Park, Michigan (North Western Lake Superior)

  November 29, 2012 AD (Day Forty Two)

  11:35pm EST

  General Hart looked down at his clipboard and ticked off the last names of the people getting off of the chopper. He needed to get the birds back into the air quickly. Only the injured and the most essential personnel were brought to the island via the helicopters. The rest of the population of White Harbor were enroot via anything that would float. A small detachment was left at White River to maintain the integrity of the installation, while the lion’s share of the resources had been brought to the island.

  Now the priceless helicopters salvaged from the dozens of mothballed antiques at White River had a new task. To retrieve what was left of the defense force that’d traded their lives for the time needed to get the civilians out of the combat zone.

  “Sir, everyone is present and accounted for.” Sgt Clay Sanford said. He was shifting uncomfortably in the wheelchair he’d been trapped in since his leg was sheared off. The pain killers coursing through his system were barely noticeable under his near perfect veneer of military discipline.

  “Very good Sgt, give the order for the birds to get back in the air and get our people off of the mainland.” He was still irritated. It’d taken the word of the entire emergency council to convince him he would be more useful here on the island, rather than on the mainland with a rifle and a blade. When they’d arrived on the island and met up with the Park Rangers and their families, there was plenty of fighting against the Dead trapped there. They’d done good work here, and he was convinced this island would give them the breathing space they needed to get organized and take back their world.

  Several minutes later, the Vietnam vintage Heuys hit the air and headed South back to the doomed town. Things were out of his hands now and in God’s. Hart had a job to do, and he headed back to the former Park Ranger Station and visitors center being expanded for permanent habitation. The sounds of saws and air hammers could be heard over the gunfire that popped randomly throughout the island, yes, General Hart was grateful to have a job to do that was within his abilities.

  2

  White Harbor

  The Docks

  11:55pm EST

  Kenny Michener was choking back vomit as he waded through the Dead, felling one after another with broad strokes from his blade. The air around the shore line reeked of rotten flesh, burnt gunpowder, and spilled human bowels. Most of the leaders of the for
ce that’d hit the back of the Army of the Dead had either fallen or were isolated, leaving him in a type of default command of the semi-unified force.